


Cold, Cold Water

by wkemeup



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Hypothermia, Implied Sexual Content, Near Drowning, Near character death, Sex, Smut, Touch-Starved, some violence, that good ol’ we-gotta-share-body-heat-or-you-might-die trope, 🎶stake-me-out tonight🎶
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:00:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22977307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wkemeup/pseuds/wkemeup
Summary: While on a stakeout in the heart of Russia, Bucky learns that touch can bring something more than pain and he will willingly give himself over to the ice if it means keeping you alive.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 179





	Cold, Cold Water

Bucky didn’t care much for the cold. It always seemed to be more of a challenge to his mind than his body. It took him back to darker memories of enclosed spaces and lapses of time, to handlers barking orders and the electricity of the chair. Whenever a chill swept up his spine, he had to remind himself of who he was, had convince himself he was safe and not about to lose another decade under ice.

The serum pumping through his veins aided in keeping the shivers to a minimum and allowed him to tolerate more than most when it came to freezing temperatures but it didn’t make it any easier to sit in an unmarked car, deep into central Russia, watching as his breath left his lungs in small, isolated fogs.

He started to wonder why he ever agreed to take on a reconnaissance mission in a place where the icy cold of the air stung in his nose with each inhale. That was, until he heard the soft rustle of your jacket beside him as you yawned, readjusting your position, and he remembered.

He went for you.

You were curled up against the passenger door, huddled under three layers of t-shirts, sweatshirts, and a heavy woolen jacket, though it didn’t seem to stop your constant shivering. The clicks of your teeth chattering together hadn’t ceased since you’d arrived to the frozen wasteland nearly two weeks prior and while Bucky offered to take the first watch of the night in hopes you’d get some rest, you had yet to even close your eyes.

Forehead pressed against the window, you winced as you tried to get comfortable along the stiff seats of the dated car. Knees tucked up to your chest, arms wrapped tightly around your legs trying to preserve warmth, your breaths were shaky on every exhale.

Bucky swallowed nervously, stealing glances at you from the corner of his eye as he tried to keep focus on the target of the mission.

An arms dealer by the name of Ivanov paced back and forth in front of the window to his apartment, only his shadow visible from Bucky’s position in the car. Every few seconds, Bucky turned and caught a glimpse of you pushing your rosy cheeks into the wrap of your scarf or carefully blowing hot air on your hands, but nothing seemed to help the icy cold of your skin.

It made his stomach turn, watching you try to keep warm despite the freezing temperatures outside. You had reluctantly asked to start the engine of the car after sitting on your hands for nearly two hours and Bucky hated having to tell you no, that any kind of attention drawn to the car could blow the cover. You had nodded, understanding, but your lips were turning blue.

Bucky wanted nothing more than to take your discomfort away, to give you the advantage of the serum so he could suffer through the chills in your place. He’d do just about anything for you, he realized.

He didn’t have a way of quantifying his relationship to you but he knew it sat somewhere beyond friendship and less than what he wanted, _needed._

When Steve first brought him to the compound a year earlier after he’d been pardoned, he had been a shell of the man he was in the forties. As much as Steve tried, Bucky couldn’t be the man his friend so desperately wanted him to be. He was something else now, something darker and broken, something irredeemable and lost. He was sure of it.

Until he met you.

Like the first breath of air after his lungs had filled with water, you walked into his life and gave him something he hadn’t known in decades _. Hope._

You never walked on eggshells with him, never avoided him when he walked in the room, always sent him the kind of smile that warmed over the ice in his chest even when he could give you nothing but scowls and hardened features in return. You never pushed him beyond what he could handle, but you were determined to get him to open up, to feel safe, to have someone he could call a friend, who appreciated him for the man he was and not for the absence of who he used to be.

Over time, he started to notice himself smile when you walked in the room. He started to give you answers to your questions longer than a few words and started asking questions of his own. He started to seek you out when you didn’t show up in the kitchen for coffee at your usual hour and started asking if you had any suggestions for shows he should catch up on since Parker hooked him up with some streaming site he couldn’t remember the name of. You had smiled so bright, Bucky almost melted.

Through it all, Bucky wished more than anything else that he could forget about his past, that he could start fresh and let himself fall for a woman he so clearly had feelings for. But every time someone came too close to him, his heart skyrocketed so fast he was sure he might pass out.

He hated that it happened even when it was you.

Unsurprisingly, you were incredibly observant and seemed to be the only one who noticed the way he flinched when Steve proudly patted him on the back the day he recalled another memory from their childhood and when Wanda had kindly touched his arm apologetically when she almost knocked him over on her way off the elevator. You noticed that he backed away whenever someone got too close and how he’d jump up off the couch like something had burned him if anyone sat close enough to touch his thigh.

Much like the cold, he didn’t do well with touch either, he supposed.

Add it to the list.

While you never confronted him, you made sure to be cautious of it, always letting him take that step on the days he was comfortable to do so. He wondered if you knew how much your kindness affected him, if you understood that the gentleness you treated him with was more than he’d known in decades and every time you pushed the boundaries and let your hand graze over his, his heart skipped a beat for the right reasons.

He was getting better with the idea of touch and, slowly, he came to find that he wasn’t so afraid of it if it was coming from you.

He started missing the feel of your fingertips ghosted over his arm in such a whisper that they were gone before he even realized they were there. He craved the way your thigh would brush against his as you sunk down onto the couch for movie nights before you realized how close you had sat next to him and scooted away apologetically. He needed the way you reached out to steady him with a close hold on the flesh of his shoulder like he needed air.

You grounded him, brought him back to the surface after decades of swimming underwater, and he wasn’t even sure if you knew.

So, as he watched you struggled to keep your arms from shaking, the clouds of your breath forming from your lips, he wondered if maybe he could do something about it after all, if maybe he could push past the accelerating beat of his heart to ease your discomfort.

“You’re shaking,” Bucky said, flatter than he meant to, almost too clinically, like an observation that left out the underlying concern he felt.

You nodded, trying to push out a smile despite the cracks in your lips. “Well, we are in Russia. K-Kinda known for being c-cold.”

Bucky swallowed, turning to check on Ivanov again who hadn’t moved from the window in his living room. He sighed, trying to work up some courage, and pushed the arm rest up between you until the front seat was more of a bench than two separate seats. Old cars had their advantages even if the insulation was shit.

He nodded for you to come closer, reaching out and gently tugging on the shoulder of your jacket. Your eyes darted down to where his hand gripped lightly at your sleeve, surprise clearly written on your features. You narrowed your eyes up at him, confused and Bucky licked his lips.

“Just come here, will ya?” Bucky requested nervously, a slight chuckle in his voice to mask the anxiety he felt. “You’re gonna freeze over there.”

“Are you—Are you sure?” you asked hesitantly, always so cautious with him in a way that made his stomach twist. “You don’t have to do that for me, Buck. I know it’s hard for you when people get too cl–”

“You’re not just ‘people,’” Bucky replied quicker than he meant to. He swallowed thickly, watching as a violent tremor swept up your spine and you grimaced, unable to suppress it for his sake, though you tried. Bucky sighed. “Please, Y/n, you’re turning blue. I need you to not freeze to death on me if we’re gonna get this guy. Let me save your life, doll.”

He pushed out a smile for you and it seemed to ease your reluctance. He knew why you were being so hesitant, though. A few months back, he had been thrown into a full-fledged panic attack in the heart of Brooklyn when an eight-year-old fan had rushed up and hugged him without warning. He kept it together long enough to not scare the poor kid, but you had to drag him down an alleyway away from the busy streets to help ground him again. It took you nearly twenty minutes to calm him down again and Bucky could see that same fear in your eyes now, like you might be the one to put him back in that state.

“I’m okay, Y/n. I can handle it,” he said sincerely before he reached forward and took one of your hands in his.

You were like ice and you practically sighed in relief as warmth radiated from his grip. He’d held your hand before, once, when you found him shaking in the middle of the night and he couldn’t handle more than the soft touch of your hand in his. It felt different now and not because your skin was frozen to the touch.

Bucky smiled as you squeezed his hand, searching for more of his heat. It was working.

“You’re a furnace,” you gasped, pressing the back of his hand to your cheeks and he nearly hissed from how cold you were.

“So come here, then,” he chuckled, pulling you closer by the hand and you laughed under the cold clouds of your breath, crawling closer to him.

It took a moment before you situated yourself, sitting stiffly at his side, still with a few inches between you. He’d spent too long keeping you at a distance that you were practically conditioned not to touch him, even if he was initiating it.

With a surge of confidence, Bucky reached around your lap and tucked his had around your outer thigh, scooting you closer until the length of your leg was pressed against his.

Your eyes were wide and he tried to hide the blush in his cheeks as he avoided your stare. He was thankful you allowed him to move you like a rag doll, letting him set you against his body where he was comfortable until your arm was crossed over his waist, tucked behind the open zipper of his jacket upon the thin fabric of his t-shirt until you could feel the ripple of his stomach muscles, and your head was leaning on his shoulder. Your right leg crossed your left until you were so curled up against him, he could feel your heartbeat from at least four different pulse points.

A sigh left your lips and you squeezed at his waist, nudging your head along his shoulder, almost _purring_ , and it took away any lingering anxiety he felt. For the first time in years, he felt normal, like touch could be something for comfort instead of pain.

You were asleep within a few minutes, the warmth of your breath on his neck, and he couldn’t help but smile to himself.

He watched Ivanov pace for the rest of the night, listening contently to the soft vibrations of your breaths and tired not to focus on the pleasant twists in his stomach when you pulled him closer to you in your sleep.

***

A few more nights of curling up side by side in the front seat in search of shared warmth and Bucky decided he never wanted to be without your arms wrapped around him again.

Ivanov was taking longer to meet up with his supplier than anticipated so you spent more time holed up in that car together than either of you had planned for. Letting himself give into the need he had been suppressing for so long to be close to someone, to be close to _you_ like this, to be held, was the only thing making the aching chill of the cold worth it. He’d submerge himself into ice water if it meant he could still come back to your arms.

You had stopped complaining about the freezing temperatures and you no longer shivered when you were pressed up against his side. It was nearly a week of sharing the warmth of your bodies as you continued the stakeout before you asked him a question that nearly made his heart stop.

“Do you wanna get a drink?”

Bucky stiffened immediately, though you didn’t seem to notice, still curled up against his side with your cheek pressed to his collarbone. He remembered Sam teasing him about this once; that ‘normal people’ went out on weekends and how asking to get a drink with someone was asking for a date.

Was that what you were doing? Did you want that with him? Why was he starting to sweat when there were icicles forming from the condensation on the car windows?

“Buck? You okay?” you asked cautiously, sitting up and he missed your warmth instantly. “If you’re worried about Ivanov, I’ve got a monitoring system set up so we’ll know if he leaves his apartment. He hasn’t left that living room in days. We should be fine for just one drink, at least. It’ll help warm us up. Please?”

The way you were looking at him with pleading eyes and an eager smile brimming on your lips, Bucky didn’t know how he could possibly deny you. Your smile could make him do just about anything.

“Y-yeah okay.“

The spark of joy that lit up your features was enough to push aside any concern he had over the mission and bypass the nervous energy consuming his veins. He stopped thinking about Sam’s stupid comment and tried to ignore the jolt in his heart as you grinned at him.

“Great! There’s a bar across the street,” you pointed out and Bucky chuckled, realizing you had been thinking about this for longer than he thought. “Come on!”

You pushed open the car door with a heavy kick to break through the ice that had formed on the creases of the latch and a brush of freezing air swept into the car. Bucky quickly stumbled out after you, tucking his hands into his pockets and nearly fell a few paces back as you collided against him, wrapping your arms around his waist to keep warm in the few steps it took to cross the street.

A few months ago, that might have thrown him into a state of shock or stolen the breath from his lungs, but now, he only started to laugh. He surprised himself as removed his right hand from his pocket and draped it around your shoulders.

He held open the door for you as you walked into the bar to find dim lighting and the clicking of pool balls as two heavy set men with long, unkempt beards paced around the green felt table. There was no music playing and a total of three people inside the bar, including the bar tender, but it was warm enough for you to shrug off your jacket so Bucky was satisfied.

You hovered over the bar, waiting for the bartender to notice you, though he didn’t look up in your direction until Bucky stood by your side. He made eye contact with Bucky and draped the towel over his shoulder as he started to make his way down the bar. You scoffed, muttering something under your breath about the man’s very clear misogynist attitude that made Bucky chuckle quietly.

Considering you didn’t speak Russian, Bucky quickly ordered your favorite drink and a bourbon for himself. He tried not to notice the way you grinned to yourself as the Russian rolled seamlessly off his tongue. Only, the bartender didn’t respond. He stared blankly back at him and Bucky narrowed his eyes, wondering if maybe he had used the wrong dialect, until he took notice of the series of bottles behind the bar, all filled with a clear liquid.

He nodded in understanding and ordered two vodkas, straight.

“This is what we get for agreeing to a mission in Russia,” you muttered, taking the glass as the bartender attempted to hand it to Bucky. The bartender’s eyes trailed down from your face, lower than any decent man would stare without reservation and Bucky quickly paid for the drinks, not wanting this man to look at you with such hunger any more than he already had.

By the time he opened the tab, you had already retreated back to a booth in the far corner of the bar, hidden in shadows and nursing your drink with a sour face. Bucky smiled, noticing the twists in his stomach that came along whenever he seemed to look at you these days, and grabbed his drink from the bar.

He attempted to sit across the table from you but you grabbed onto the sleeve of his jacket, tugging him until he slid into the bench beside you. He didn’t even stop to notice how easily he had grown used to your touch, that your quick grasp onto his jacket didn’t even take him by surprised.

“You still cold?” he asked carefully, moving to run his hand along your arm in hopes to warm you but you shook your head.

“Just like sitting next to you,” you replied casually and it made Bucky’s heart jump. “Is that okay?”

“Y-yeah, ‘course,” he stuttered nervously. For the first time in years it wasn’t because of the close quarters he sat in with you, but because being around you made his stomach twist and his heart skip beats and placed a smile on his lips that hadn’t curved up for such extended periods of time it was started to ache in his cheeks.

You made him nervous for reasons outside of his trauma. You made him nervous because he wanted you to touch him _more_ , because he wanted to spend all of his time with you, because he started to find himself looking at your lips and wondering what they would feel like against his own.

“So how mad do you think Steve would be if he found out we left our post for a drink?” you smirked as you took a sip from your glass, though you couldn’t hold back the grimace that followed. Still, you took another swig before Bucky could answer. You were just so damn endearing he wondered how it was possible he didn’t let himself be close to you like this before Russia.

“What Steve doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Bucky laughed. “Besides, he’s been trying to get me to go out for months. It’s not my fault I decided to do it while in some nowhere town in Russia while on the clock.”

“There’s that rebellious spirit I’ve heard so much about,” you beamed, nudging him in his side until he broke out into laughter. The two men at the pool table turned and glared at the two of you and Bucky waved them off, which only made you laugh harder.

***

Two hours later as Bucky was on his second drink and you on your third, you started to play absentmindedly with his left arm. Delicate fingers traced over the gold shine of the detailing and the dark grey of the plates. Humming quietly to yourself, Bucky wondered how it was possible to have known someone like you, whose touch brought him something other than fear and pain, who only looked at him with kindness and wonder, who saw his arm as something of beauty rather than an instrument of violence.

“Can’t believe you’re letting me do this,” you whispered softly, under your breath, almost as if you were voicing the thoughts in your head aloud without realizing it. You turned his hand over in yours, tracing at what would be the lifeline in his palm.

Bucky parted his lips to say something, _anything_ , but nothing seemed to come out as you carefully moved your hand up his forearm and over his bicep, just exploring. It was different in his left arm, didn’t feel it the way he might have in his right, but it still sent shivers up his spine that had nothing to do with the cold outside the walls of the bar.

“Is it just the alcohol?” you asked quietly, a sliver of disappointment in your voice as your hand brushed over his neck, thumb tracing along the scruff on his jaw and he sighed into you, leaning against your hand as if searching for more, and he was.

You wore a sad smile that broke Bucky’s heart.

“Would you let me do this if you were sober?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, surprised by your questions and the ache in your voice he wasn’t used to. It didn’t seem to occur to you that the alcohol didn’t affect him like it did before the war, not with the serum, but your concern that maybe that was the only reason he would let you near him like this, even after how close he let you in the car, twisted in his heart.

He wondered then if maybe you longed for him the way he so desperately longed for you, too.

Bucky thought back to all the times you asked him to watch movies with you late at night and how you’d sit by him with a bowl of popcorn between you, how you’d bring him up to the roof to watch the stars and make sure to sit on a separate lawn chair, though you dragged it close enough to be near. You were so observant with him, so in tune to his needs and offering your hand to him in the moments that touch wasn’t just wanted, it was _needed._

He remembered suddenly how bright you’d smile whenever he caught your eye across the room, how your cheeks would flush when Sam teased you about the late-night trips to the roof, and how you defended him with every breath you had to a hoard of freshmen agents who gossiped too loudly about his time as the winter soldier as you walked by.

Lost in his own thoughts, your hand started to fall from Bucky’s face in his absence of an answer and you began to turn away sadly. But then, Bucky’s hand jumped up to yours, holding it steady against him. You looked to him, surprised, lips parting and Bucky swore he could hear your heart beating.

“It’s different with you,” Bucky tried to explain, his voice hoarse, “it’s always been different with you. I didn’t realize how much I needed this, needed someone to just… _touch me._ But it’s not just someone, it’s _you._ I need it to be you.”

A breath left you, stunned, and your thumb traced in careful strokes over his jawline enough to draw a gasp from him. Eyes flickering down to his lips, Bucky swore his heart might have stopped. He didn’t want to consider if it was too much too soon because nothing ever felt wrong when he was with you. He started to lean in, watched as you closed your eyes, but his gaze flickered to your drink on the table and he pulled back abruptly.

“What is it?” you asked carefully, concerned, but he didn’t reply right away. Your eyes widened in a realization he didn’t catch onto and you quickly pulled your hand from the side of his face. He already missed the feel of your hand. “Oh God, I shouldn’t have pushed you, Buck, I’m so–”

“You’re drinking,” Bucky stated quietly, nodding to your glass but you were rapidly shaking your head.

“It’s water,” you said in a breath of relief and Bucky narrowed his eyes, “the last two have been water. Need at least a relatively clear head for this job, don’t I?”

“Oh.”

_So, this was real?_

Bucky’s heart was thumping in his chest, so loud, so painful, he was sure it might explode from the cavity and jump right out into your lap. It belonged to you, anyway, he realized.

The surveillance cam sitting on the table was quiet, the blip on the monitor your signal to Ivanov’s safe location in his apartment. Suddenly, Bucky couldn’t focus on the mission or the sound of the pool balls clicking behind him as the men started their fourth game. He didn’t notice the stale smell of musk or the bartender grumbling under his breath from behind the bar. He couldn’t focus on anything but you, anything but your lips and he’d never wanted to touch anyone so badly in his life.

You called his name carefully, hand settling on his cheek again to draw his attention, and it jolted something within him, enough so that his hands snaked up against your neck and gently pulled you to him until the warmth of his breath ghosted against your lips.

He was breathing fast, shallow, but electricity was in his veins for the right reasons and as he gazed upon the soft look in your eye, he let himself press forward. Impossibly gentle and chaste, he parted his lips to yours, encasing your bottom lip between his own and you tasted of wasted months and longing and something stronger than the desire he felt for you, something like love.

One taste wasn’t enough for him and he kissed you again, not giving himself even a moment for air, and the soft whimper from your lips as your hands raked down his back was enough to make him crave more. He needed to hear more of that, needed to feel you everywhere, needed you to touch him where his clothes were obstructing his body.

“Bucky,” you murmured into his mouth, kissing the corner of his lips, his cheekbone, until you pulled back breathless.

He decided he loved the way your lips had swollen, that he wanted to make sure they looked like that all the time because he didn’t want to spend another moment not kissing you. He pushed forward and kissed at your neck as you tried to speak and giggled as your fingers began to comb through his hair, urging him on.

“Bucky,” you called again and he pulled back reluctantly.

The pout on his face made your smile stretch to touch your ears. You nodded to the bartender who was sending the two of you a death glare. Bucky groaned, grabbing your hand and helping you slide out from the booth. He threw your jacket over your shoulders and quickly led you to the door in the back of the bar as fast as his feet could carry him.

“Where are we going?” you laughed, holding onto the com alerting you to Ivanov’s location. Still in his apartment.

“Upstairs,” Bucky replied, opening the door to find a woman standing at a desk behind it. A whole another room you clearly weren’t expecting. 

Bucky mumbled some Russian and handed her some money before she placed a key in his hand. The grin on your face as you realized what he was doing had Bucky all but restraining himself not to pick you up and carry you the rest of the way.

He led you up the stairs, hand grasped tightly in your own until he reached the door he was looking for. Nervously fumbling with the key, he stole a glance over at you to find you biting back a laugh. The second he got the door open, he hulled you inside and caged you against the wall, kicking the door shut behind him.

His lips were on yours again in an instant, his hands running up and down your sides, touching and caressing over parts of you he kept himself from even imagining the feel of. His hands slid over curves and ridges, ripples and dimples, every part of you and it still wasn’t enough.

You were breathless, your own hands raking over his shoulders, in his hair, on his face, down his abs, and he never wanted you to stop. He started to reach for the hem of your shirt when you pulled away sharply.

Bucky froze, suddenly realizing what he was doing. It was like one touch ignited something within him and everything else became a blur. In all your concern for him, he never stopped to consider if it was too much for you. Panic swept through his chest and he backed away.

“Shit, I-I’m sorry. Do you—do you want to stop?” Bucky stuttered out awkwardly, scratching at the back of his head.

“No, _God no_ , Buck,” you replied quickly, crossing the room to stand against him again. His knees caught on the edge of the bed and he fell against the mattress as you stepped between his legs. You pushed the hair from his eyes, smiling down at him. “This is just a lot for you, so soon, and I want to make sure you’re okay, that this is what you want.”

Bucky swallowed, letting his hands brush around your waist, tracing down the curve of your ass and along your thighs. He looked up at you, a kind of relief in him he hadn’t felt in years.

“Don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more,” he confessed quietly, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand.

Months of pent up emotions were spilling out of him at once. All this time of wanting to be close to you and never allowing himself the chance, too afraid of what might happen, of the possibility of your touch being anything other than the magic he imagined it to be.

You thought quietly for a moment before moving to straddle his waist. “You’ll tell me if it gets to be too much.”

It wasn’t a question, but a demand. Bucky nodded eagerly.

He hadn’t been with a woman since before the war and even then, none of them made him feel in his highest peak even an ounce of what he felt simply kissing you. 

As you leaned back to tug all three layers of your shirts and sweaters over your heat, Bucky was met with awe. Goosebumps prickled along your skin even in the heat of the room and Bucky was quick to run his hands along your exposed skin in aid of warmth.

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the hill of your breast as you reached behind you to unclasp the remaining fabric covering your chest. Nipples hardening under the cool air and from the anticipation of Bucky’s thumbs carefully brushing against them, he watched as you closed your eyes in a content sigh.

Though as a shiver raked up your spine, Bucky quickly gathered you in his arms and tossed you under the covers. Your laughter echoed through the room and Bucky swore he never heard a more beautiful sound. 

Crawling in behind you and settling down with the warmth of the sheets over his back, he brushed the hair away from your face, taking just a second longer to memorize the flush of your cheeks and the warm smile upon your lips as you stared up at him.

Anticipation itching in his skin combined with the exhilaration of your hands along the bare of his arms, his back, his chest, and the remainder of clothes were shed, tossed aside until the entirety of him laid against you. He closed his eyes, holding onto the moment that you gave him the chance to feel something other than fear or pain, to maybe feel something of pleasure.

He kissed along your neck, not having the proper words to thank you, and parted your legs as he adjusted himself between them. You reached down between you and as your hand wrapped around his length he gasped, shocked by the sensation.

“You okay?” you asked sweetly, kissing his cheek.

He nodded, lips parting and even though your hand hardly even moved, he was sure he was going to come from your touch on him alone.

“More than okay, doll.”

You grinned as he leaned down to kiss you.

It all happened so fast after that and Bucky couldn’t give himself time to savor and process because all he could think about was your hands and your mouth and the clench of your walls as he sank into you. He tucked his face into the crook of your neck as he rolled his hips, biting back moans and gasping with each pulse inside of you.

All the while, you whispered sweet praises in his ear, told him how much you adored him, let your hands roam down his back, gripped at his shoulders, until you started to rub circles at your clit and Bucky swore he saw stars. The clench of you around him was blinding, sending rushes of heat and waves of a kind of pleasure he hadn’t experienced in years.

It only took a few thrusts before you came around him, holding him tight to your chest as he chased his own release. The whimpers of your moans and the achingly sweet cry in your voice were enough for Bucky to reach his edge and he spilled into you, kissing at your neck as he rolled his hips to prolong the release.

When he finally stilled, he let himself rest on your chest, curling his arms around your shoulders and pressing a chaste kiss to your jawline. He sighed contently, heart pounding and mind a little hazy. Your fingers began to slowly comb through his hair, drawing shivers down his spine simply from your touch.

“How do you feel?” you asked breathily, a slight laugh in your voice that made Bucky’s heart swell.

He lifted himself from your chest just enough to press a kiss to your lips before settling back in, smiling as he could hear the sound of your heart beating under his ear.

“Like I’ve been wasting a lot of time not letting you touch me, doll.”

***

No one could have predicted that Ivanov would spend another two weeks holed up in his apartment, relentlessly pacing back and forth and attending to paperwork at his desk for hours on end. Though, despite Fury’s offer to send agents to relieve you and Bucky from your posts, you both hastily declined. You didn’t inform him it was the frequent trips to the motel above the bar that incentivized you to stay.

Bucky didn’t know how he could have possibly gone so long holding back from you. It was like you brought him back to life and now he simply couldn’t stay away from you. Even sitting in that damn car all day and night when Ivanov was too active to let the two of you escape to the motel for an hour, he kept his hand on your thigh, or circling your knee, or sitting draped over your shoulders as you curled up against his side.

There had been a few times when the nights were too long and you released him from the zipper of his pants and worked him over with your hands or your mouth until he came, gripping onto your hair and the grab handle hanging above the driver’s window.

Your touch was unlike anything else.

It sent fire through him and calmed him and made his heart beat out of his chest. He didn’t once consider that your hands could bring him pain or suffering the way he had been conditioned to believe for decades. You were soft and gentle and beyond anything that he deserved but he gave himself over you to dozens of time because he simply couldn’t get enough.

Even to touch you was like heaven. The trust it took and the willingness to allow _his_ hands, hands that had tortured and killed, to touch you and bring you to the edge of something joyous, something pleasurable, was unparalleled.

He treasured the nights where you’d curl against him and his right hand would slip under the band of your pants, running delicately between your thighs and coaxing you until you were moaning such beautiful sounds Bucky was sure he’d never be able to sit in silence again.

Even now as he sat in the driver’s seat of the car, one hand on the binoculars and the other resting on your thigh, Bucky was sure he’d crumble if he ever lost you. You were his anchor. Your hold on him keeping his mind and body firm on the surface before he sank to the depths of the oceans or floated high above the clouds. You were his lifeline.

“Do you think we’ll be here forever?” you huffed with a teasing smile, arms folded over your chest as you tucked your chin further into your scarf. You glanced up at Ivanov who was pacing in front of his window again.

“Don’t think I’d mind if we were.” Bucky smiled, shrugging, and tugged on your thighs to pull you closer to him. “I could spend an eternity here if I get to keep holding you like this, doll.”

“We can still do that on a side of the world where it’s not this freezing, you know,” you laughed, nudging his side as you scooted closer against him.

Bucky swallowed nervously, stiffening though you didn’t seem to notice.

“You– you want to still do this back home?” He was afraid suddenly, his chest growing cold.

But the soft glow of your smile saved him from falling into the darkest corners of his mind as your hand gently reached up to cup at the side of his face. Your thumb brushed against the hairs on his beard, bringing his lips tenderly to your own. It was chaste and impossibly short, but as you pulled back, the warmth in your eyes was enough to melt the fear in Bucky’s heart.

“I want every part of you, Buck,” you said. “I want you here and I want you at home.”

Bucky bit on his lip, chewing over dried skin, because he knew what he wanted with you. He wanted everything.

“I want to go on dates and hold your hand in public,” you continued dreamily and Bucky’s heart skipped a beat. “I want to curl up on the couch with you and train with you and take you to all my favorite restaurants and walk with you in Central Park. I want it all, Buck. If you want it, too.”

Bucky could hardly believe what he was hearing. He was dreaming, he was sure of it, because he never imagined those words would ever come from your mouth.

The way you were watching him so eagerly awaiting his response made his stomach flutter. He hadn’t felt like that since he was a teenager pining after a pretty girl at school. You gave him back a kind of innocence he’d lost in his decades under Hydra. You made him human again.

“There is nothing I want more,” he sighed, a relief washing over him and he leaned in to kiss the smile tugging so beautifully across your lips when suddenly, the red blinking light of the monitor caught his attention.

Bucky pulled back abruptly, checking the dash to find it was the perimeter light that was engaged. You pointed at a figure coming down the steps of Ivanov’s apartment and the red sedan’s lights that flashed as the doors unlocked.

This was what the two of you had been waiting on for weeks now. Timing wasn’t great, but it never really was. Without another word, Bucky nodded, turning on the ignition of the car and manually disengaging the headlights.

He waited a moment after Ivanov pulled out from his parking space before switching the car into drive and pulling out from the alleyway. You kept a careful watch on the monitors on the dash, checking the GPS and the communicating your route back to Fury.

Bucky followed Ivanov for nearly twenty minutes, keeping a steady distance behind him as to not draw attention. Ivanov led him outside of the town lines, down an abandoned road, and onto the off-road, which didn’t support the surveillance vehicle well. On his left he passed a cabin with the lights off.

“Where the hell is he taking us?” you huffed, pulling your gun from the glove compartment as the car ahead rolled to a stop. Bucky pulled the car over to the side of the dirt path, turning off the ignition and you clenched your jaw. “Do you think we’ve been made?”

“Not sure,” Bucky replied, reaching for his own weapons and strapping them to the holsters on his pants and jacket, “guess we’re about to find out.”

Out ahead, Ivanov stepped out from his car, a hand gun visible in his right hand as he slammed the door shut. From your positioning, he shouldn’t be able to see your car in the dark like this, even as he turned to check his surroundings. He looked straight at the car and didn’t seemed to be alarmed in the slightest. He must have looked right past it. 

Then, Ivanov turned to the forest.

“Looks like we’re following him on foot,” Bucky grumbled as Ivanov started to follow a path into the woods.

You groaned a little dramatically and Bucky couldn’t help but smile as he pushed open his door, offering his hand to help you slide out the seat. The cool air must have hit you like a brick wall because your arms quickly moved to wrap around your waist, face pressing into Bucky’s chest as he closed the door behind you.

“Come on, doll,” Bucky chuckled, starting to walk in Ivanov’s direction with you huddled to his chest.

After a few paces, you reluctantly pulled yourself from Bucky’s embrace and positioned your gun out ahead of you, ready to fire if needed. You were on a mission, after all.

Following Ivanov’s shadow in the distance through the twists and turns of the snow-covered forest, even Bucky started to feel the chill of the cold air. Ice crystals started to form on his beard from his exhales and his right hand was starting to feel numb. He was about to suggest going on the offensive to get this over with before the two of you froze to death just as Ivanov suddenly took off running.

“Shit, we’ve been made,” you cursed and suddenly you were sprinting off after him before Bucky could even warn you to wait.

Weaving in and out of the forest, Bucky followed closely on your heels until the sound of running water replaced the crunching of the snow under his boots and you pulled to a sudden stop at the edge of a bridge after Ivanov’s shadow had long disappeared from view.

You groaned, resting your arms on the crown of your head to find your breath. You winced with every inhale as the cold air burned in your lungs. “Where the hell did he go?!”

Bucky shook his head, just as lost. He narrowed his eyes, trying to get a better view beyond the bridge, but came up empty.

Beside him, you froze suddenly; stiff and rigid and before Bucky could turn and ask what was wrong, a dark voice in a thick accent behind him called out over the rush of river’s current ahead.

“Looking for me, princess?”

Bucky spun around to find Ivanov standing just behind you with the barrel of his gun pressed into the nape of your neck, his hand squeezing your shoulder to keep you still. He grinned at Bucky, yellowed teeth and a gold canine behind a long wiry beard.

You winced as he dug the barrel of the gun harder against your neck and your hands shot up to your sides defensively. He pried the gun from your right hand and tossed it over the bridge and into the river. The same went for the smaller one strapped to your thigh, his hands ghosting over your hip a few seconds too long.

Bucky’s hands were shaking. He was fuming.

“You, stay here,” Ivanov demanded, nodding to Bucky as he pushed you forward.

“Let her go!” Bucky called out, keeping his aim trained on Ivanov but you were obstructing his scope. It was too risky to take a shot. He was helpless as Ivanov lead you out to the center of the bridge.

“Can’t do that!” Ivanov shouted, glancing down at the water as he held you firm in his grip. “Not when the two of you have been watching me for weeks! My supplier won’t appreciate that I’ve had a tail and I think it’s about time I cut it off.”

Bucky readjusted his positioning, his grip on the handle of the gun aching in his right hand. He tried to take a step closer and Ivanov fired a warning shot into the air, causing you to flinch and Bucky stilled immediately.

“You don’t gotta hurt her, Ivanov,” Bucky urged, trying to keep his voice calm despite the rage of panic in his veins, “you can take me. You know who I am, don’t you? Let her go and you can have me. Imagine how much money you could get for the winter soldier.”

Your eyes widened, about to protest, when Ivanov began to laugh; a sound so harsh and cruel it struck an unpleasant nerve in Bucky’s chest.

“You think I’m foolish enough to go near Hydra?” he shouted, shaking his head, almost amused.

“If you want to take this out on someone, use me!” Bucky called out, voice shaking though it wasn’t from the cold. He met your eyes and they were wide and filled with tears, though you struggled to form words. “Let her go. Just take me.”

“Oh, I’ll kill you, too,” Ivanov smirked, “but I’m starting with the girl.”

Bucky only saw red. A snarl ripped through him before he could quite stop it and he fired a single bullet at the only ounce of a clean shot he could find. It clipped at the edge of Ivanov’s shoulder and he let out a yelp, allowing you to stumble away from him in the shock of it.

Bucky sprinted towards you, his feet carrying him as fast as they possibly could, but it wouldn’t be enough. You were unsteady on your feet from the sudden echo of the gunfire and the bullet that whizzed by your arm and plunged into Ivanov.

Ivanov, with one hand gripping onto a bloody shoulder, took your moment of surprise to his advantage and shoved you hard towards the railing. No time to react, you tried to fight back but he knocked you over the head with his gun, dizzying you as your eyes drifted closed. He shoved you, again, enough for your upper body to sway over the railing.

 _“No!”_ Bucky howled, desperate to reach you in time but you were already slipping over the edge. He screamed out, firing four shouts straight into Ivanov’s chest and chucked his gun aside as the arms dealer collapsed to the ground, bloody.

He lunged to grab you as you fell backwards, your hand slipping through his for an impossible second and Bucky’s stomach plummeted along with you as you fell into the freezing water.

No time to think, reacting purely on adrenaline, Bucky climbed up onto the railing and dove in after you.

If he had been in any other state of mind, the jolt of the ice-cold water might have thrown him into a panic attack or a violent flashback or rendered him into a version of himself he wouldn’t recognize. It might have ripped him from his body and replaced him with the soldier because it was under ice as cold as this that Hydra kept him alive all those years.

As he used every ounce of his strength to push through the water, fighting against the burning cold encasing around him and numbing his body, he kept his focus on you. The water was too dark but he reached and searched and couldn’t find you anywhere. His lungs were on fire and he breached the surface for a gasp of air before he dove back down.

It was taking too long, _you’d been under too long_ , and Bucky was panicking in a way he never had before. The lump in the back of his throat might have choked him if it wasn’t for the dark figure he spotted floating a few feet to his right. Swimming as fast as he could and grabbing on before the current could pull you away, Bucky felt the heavy weight of your jacket and he lost all of the air in his lungs as he cried out in relief.

Dragging you up the surface, Bucky hulled you onto the frozen beach as fast as he could. Your hair stuck to the sides of your face, skin losing its color and ice to the touch. Through shaking hands, Bucky ripped down the zipper of your jacket until he could get his hands as close to your sternum as he could. Terrified of his own strength but too desperate not to lose you, he started compressions.

Every thirty seconds, he’d carefully bend down and breath into your lungs, lips pressing to yours but they felt nothing like they should, not like the lips he’d come to memorize. They were too cold, frozen, and Bucky had to stifle a cry every time he touched them.

“Come on!” Bucky begged, his voice shaking as he forced your heart to beat for you. “Come back! Don’t do this to me! Don’t– Don’t do this–”

It took nearly four minutes before you started choking on the water in your lungs. Bucky quickly rushed to help sit you up and turn to the side, rubbing circles on your back to help you cough the water away. His hands were shaking violently as he turned you to face him. The coughing ceased but you were still unconscious, though breathing. Your lips were turning blue.

Gathering you up in his arms, Bucky quickly scrambled back up to the path. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to take you to escape this cold, but he sprinted back to the car anyway. He could blast the hot air and turn the car into a sauna if he had to. It had a tracking unit on it so Fury could send for a jet as soon as he called.

Lungs aching from the cold and your unconscious body limp in his arms, Bucky could barely keep his thoughts straight. He passed through the edge of the forest and finally spotted the car in the distance, only a fire was burning from the engine.

“Fuck,” he gaped, realizing one of Ivanov’s men must have covered his tracks.

Standing at the edge of the forest, shivering, and holding you as tight to his chest as he could manage, Bucky nearly let out a scream in frustration before he remembered the cabin he had spotted just half a mile back. It was his last hope. He needed to get you out of the cold before it consumed you whole.

His legs were aching by the time he reached the front door but he managed to kick it in anyway, not bothering to knock or check if anyone was home. The driveway was absent of cars and there wasn’t a single light illuminated in the windows, anyway. Kicking the door shut behind him, Bucky quickly brought you over to the living room and laid you on the couch.

Scrambling around him for blankets, he realized there was a fireplace in the center of the room; his first bit of good luck in nearly a century. It took only a few moments before he got a spark to ignite on the logs and Bucky’s face broke out into a smile that cracked his lips.

As the fire started to grow and illuminate the room in warm shades of golds and reds, he set a blanket on the ground by the fireplace, patting it down a few times and trying to layer it enough to find some cushioning. Once satisfied, he paused, looking up to you to find your arm hanging limply over the edge of the couch and a ghostly look about you that set a dread back in his stomach.

He rushed to you, gathering you in his arms and brought you down by the fire. Your skin was ice cold and Bucky nearly hissed at the feeling of it as he helped ease you along the blankets. The heat of the flames wasn’t enough though, not with the damp layers of clothing sticking to your skin and preventing the fire from warming your body.

“Okay, okay, I can do this. I’ve got you, doll,” Bucky started mumbling to himself, nodding, knowing what he had to do.

There was no time to preserve modesty and he’d seen you naked enough times on this trip to hope that you’d forgive him for removing your clothing when this was all over, when you survived this and he could hear the sweet tone of your voice again, even if you were angry with him.

He pulled the knife from his boot and cut straight through your clothes, terrified to wait even a second longer. He peeled the sopping wet material from your skin only to find it covered in goosebumps and several shades too close to transparency. You weren’t shaking, weren’t shivering, and it wasn’t a good sign. It meant your body was too far gone to even attempt to warm itself with muscle spasms.

Once the rest of your clothing was tossed away, he threw a separate blanket on top of you while he started to strip his own clothes. Water dripped onto the carpet below as he tossed his shirt aside. Shivers swept up his spine as he started to remove his pants, then his boxers, until he was bare. He quickly rung out his hair a few paces away from you to keep the excess water away and crawled in under the blanket beside you.

Body heat. Skin to skin. It was the quickest way to share body heat and if you didn’t warm up soon, your internal organs would start failing, your heart would give out again, and Bucky might lose you for good. It wasn’t an option. He couldn’t even begin to stand the idea of it.

So, he pulled you onto his chest, leaning you heavily on his right side and keeping the cold of his left arm as far from you as he could manage. He winced as he pressed your body tight to his, like holding a block of ice straight to the bare of his skin.

“Okay, love, come on now,” he whispered, squeezing your hair out onto a cloth and throwing it over with the rest of his clothes once it wasn’t sopping wet with ice water from the river. He wrapped his right arm around you, intertwining his legs in yours and doing everything he could to warm you.

“It’s time to wake up, sweetheart,” he begged, feeling the lump burning in the back of his throat again. 

He cupped at the side of your face but your skin was still frozen, the color drained from the flush in your cheeks he adored so much. Your breaths were shallow and he tried to focus on the beat of your heart but it was faint and getting weaker.

“Don’t leave me,” Bucky gasped, kissing at your forehead and holding you so tight against him he thought he might hurt you. Tears slipped down his cheeks before he even realized he was crying.

“Please, Y/n. You can’t leave me now. Not after all this. Please, love, come back to me. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.”

***

An hour later as your skin returned to its natural hue and the ice left your veins, you still hadn’t woken up. Bucky kept you firm on his chest, rocking you slightly, and finally allowing his left hand to hold you from over the blanket as it had absorbed the heat of the fire the same way it had taken on the chill of the ice.

“I’m so sorry,” he cried in a hushed whispered, voice broken and aching because he’d been saying for twenty minutes straight, “I’m so sorry, love. I’m sorry. I’m–”

A soft rustle in his arms and Bucky’s heart nearly stopped. You moaned softly, curling up against him like you were readjusting your position in your sleep and wrapped your arm over his waist; slight movement of your arms, the curl of your legs pushing between his is search of his warmth.

“Y/n?”

You swallowed, scrunching your nose as your eyes fluttered open as if from a long nap. Bucky swore he’d never seen a more beautiful shade in his life as you took in your surroundings through narrowed eyes, confused. You licked at your dried lips and Bucky could see a thousand questions formulating in your mind but a shiver swept up your spine and caused you to bite your tongue.

“Cold,” you muttered, gripping onto Bucky tighter and he nearly cried in relief.

“I know, doll, I’ve got you,” he replied, biting on his lip to suppress the sob etching its way to the surface. You must have noticed the strain in his voice because you lifted your head from his chest to gaze down at him, tilting your head slightly at what you saw.

” **Have you been crying?** ” you asked carefully, reaching up to brush the tracks of tears from his cheeks. He clenched his jaw, embarrassed and ashamed, until you pressed a kiss to his cheek and your lips felt like they should again, soft and pillowy and warm. “Bucky, what happened? What’s wrong?”

“How much do you remember?” he gritted out, unable to stop a tear as it spilled from the corner of his eye, though you wiped it away before it could get very far.

“Ivanov. The bridge. Falling.” You sighed, eyes closing and realizing what happened before Bucky could explain. “You jumped in after me, didn’t you?”

He nodded.

“You saved my life.” It wasn’t a question but a statement. “You could have died, Bucky.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, trying to hold back the lump in his throat and the flood of emotion surging through him but as you gently cupped the side of his face, urging him to meet your eye and he found nothing but warm and love behind them, he broke.

“I- I couldn’t let you drown,” he stammered out, tears welling in his eyes again, “and—and that water was so cold, Y/n, even when I revived you, you– you wouldn’t wake up. I thought—I thought you were— You almost—”

“I’m here,” you whispered soothingly, cutting him off before he could spiral. You smiled at him, a flush of warmth in your cheeks and color renewed to your lips. You leaned in and kissed him softly, drawing a breath from him and easing the racing beat in his heart.

As you pulled away, you kissed his nose, his cheekbones, his jawline, until you settled back in against his chest. “I’m right here, Buck. I’m not going anywhere.”

He nodded, trying to convince himself and he held you tight against him.

“We should try to get word to Fury that we’ve been compromised,” Bucky said reluctantly after some time. You hummed in agreement, though you made no effort to move away from him.

“Just stay here a little while longer,” you asked in a voice so sweet Bucky didn’t even have to think twice about it. “It’s the middle of the night back home. Fury can wait until morning. Let me lay with you.”

Bucky smiled softly, tugging you close to him and kissing the crown of your head.

Touch became a kind of anchor he never even considered before you. There would have been a time a few months back where the idea of lying this close to someone, so exposed and vulnerable, would have terrified him. But now, as he held you in his embrace, Bucky relished in a security and peace he hadn’t known in decades.

Your arms wove around his waist, clinging onto him as the entirety of your body pulled flesh against him. You tucked your nose into the crook of his neck and he could feel the smile on your lips, the warmth of your breath on his skin, the gentle vibration of your hums.

The wood crackled in the fireplace beside him, soft hues of the light illuminating the room and casting a glow along the bare of your back as the blanket hung down by your waist, the heat of his body and the fire enough to sustain you, and Bucky was sure he’d never seen a more beautiful sight in his life.

“Sleep, Buck,” you urged in a tired yawn before you pressed a kiss to his neck and snuggled in tighter.

Bucky nodded, feeling the exhaustion starting to pull him under and he let his eyes flutter closed. Lost in nothing but the heat of the flames and the feel of your body against him, encasing him, holding him, he drifted off to sleep.

Warm and soft, safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Cold, cold water surrounds me now  
> And all I’ve got is your hand  
> Lord, can you hear me now?  
> Or am I lost?  
> – Damien Rice


End file.
